Celeste Files: Unlocked

by Kristine Mason

  “If I didn’t believe, then I wouldn’t be so pissed off right now,” he shouted.

  She stepped into a pair of yoga pants, then grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer. “Keep your voice down before you wake up the baby,” she said, pulling the garment over her head as she pushed past him. She stopped in the laundry room for a plastic grocery bag and a roll of paper towels, then walked back into the bedroom. John remained near the door, jaw clenched and brows drawn together in anger.

  Whatever. Let him be pissed off. The feeling was mutual.

  With care, she plucked the bigger pieces of the broken wine glass from the tile, then used several paper towels to clean up the liquid and smaller shards of glass. Yes, she should have told John about the first vision, but his threats and cynicism were unnecessary. Instead of acting like an almighty jerk, he could have at least allowed her to explain what she’d been seeing in her visions. Hell, her friend’s mom and secret half-sister had been murdered. How could she shut down her clairvoyance and let a killer go free?

  After she finished cleaning up the mess, she tied the plastic bag, then tossed it in the bathroom trashcan. Although furious with John, she did understand his fears and frustrations. In Wisconsin, when they’d been searching for a serial killer, she’d heard one of her trances. Just listening to it had been unsettling. Tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She stood, then washed her hands.

  She couldn’t imagine how it had been for John to actually watch her go through the final moments of a victim’s murder. And now John had witnessed another murder, this time in their bathroom and just down the hall from their daughter.

  She swiped at her eyes. Tracy hadn’t deserved to die, but at least the woman had found peace and love in death. Celeste would love to share what she’d experienced with John, but he was so damned close-minded, she wouldn’t bother. Maxine would appreciate the beauty of Tracy’s final moments, and hopefully help her shed light on the black figure and why she’d been unable to see his or her face. But John…he might love her, but could their marriage survive this?

  The tears came harder and faster. She loved John and didn’t want to lose what they had together. But she couldn’t stop who and what she was.

  She reached over and plucked a few tissues from the dispenser and wiped her nose, then jumped when John rested a hand on her shoulder. Not ready to face him and worried they would both say something they’d later regret, she kept her back to him and remained silent.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw with anguish. “When I found you under the water, your body jerking, I was so damned scared. Celeste, look at me. Please.”

  When she faced him and saw the regret and worry etched on his face, she couldn’t stop her chin from wobbling or the tears from continuing. “I’m sorry,” she managed.

  “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’ve got this gift that I don’t understand, and I don’t think you truly understand it, either. You’re right. I knew what you were when I fell in love with you. I’ll be honest. I was glad when it disappeared, because being able to communicate with the dead and see things people can’t…it’s something I don’t know how to wrap my brain around.”

  He touched her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m an ass for threatening you. I’d never take Olivia away. You’re a great mom and I know how much you love her.”

  On a sob, she fell into his arms. He embraced her and kissed the top of her head. After a few moments passed, he asked, “Can we talk about this?”

  “Us, you mean?”

  “No, what’s suddenly happening to you again.” He ran his hand down her back. “I’d like to think we’re good.”

  Were they? Would John hold the psychic stuff over her head and use it as another excuse not to try for another child?

  She met his gaze. “I wanted to talk to you about the visions and Maxine…she’s the psychic teacher. But I know you like evidence, and I wanted to have that before I came to you about this. I also wanted to prove to myself that I do have my abilities under control.” She sighed. “With Maxine’s help yesterday and today, I really thought I did, until the bathtub incident.”

  “But you said you heard me.”

  “I did, but I didn’t know you took me out of the tub. I also didn’t plan to go into a trance and meet with a dead woman tonight.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of the bathroom and talk this over.” He led her into the bedroom, where they both took a seat on the bed. “Tell me everything,” he said.

  She started with the blanket, only this time she expressed her fear over snapping out of the vision and seeing Olivia screaming her head off in the highchair. Fortunately, he kept quiet and didn’t become angry. He actually showed interest as she explained the details of her visions and her suspicion over who might have murdered Sandra. After she finished telling him about Tracy, he looked away, then leaned against the pile of pillows on the bed.

  “Well?” she asked, nervous over what he might say. She’d dumped a lot on him and needed him to accept her, psychic flaws and all. She needed his support. His love and to know that their marriage was solid enough that he could handle what was happening to her. If she didn’t have that, then how could their marriage survive?

  “You have no proof Sandra was murdered.”

  Disappointed, she slumped on the pillows next to him. “That’s what you have to say? After everything I just told you?” She’d experienced a woman’s murder, and his focus was on evidence?

  “It’s true. Even if an autopsy was done, based on what you remembered from the first vision, an ME would still likely rule Sandra’s death as suicide. She had access to morphine and she was dying of cancer.” He rolled over and faced her. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, especially since Sandra had a child she’d kept secret from the family. Then there’s the third party the attorney was waiting on before reading the will.”

  “I think that’s Tracy.” She let out a sigh. “I’m hoping George will help me find her. If we can rule her death a homicide, maybe the Chicago PD will step in and take another look at Sandra’s suicide. Whatever was in her safe could be the link to who killed Sandra and Tracy.”

  “If she’s dead,” he reminded her. “And it sounds to me like adoption records might’ve been in the safe.”

  “I think you’re right. And if that’s the case, I would think copies of those records would be available in the state where Sandra put Tracy up for adoption.”

  “Maybe this alleged killer doesn’t know this. Or, maybe there was something else in that safe. Money, photographs…I don’t know.” He shifted onto his elbow and rested his head in his hand. “You mentioned the ex-husband. What if Sandra had been blackmailing him? What if the ex’s girlfriend had gone after her?”

  “I don’t know if the ex even has a girlfriend. The ex is a possibility, though. During that first vision I sensed Sandra knew her killer.” She thought back to what she’d seen through Sandra’s eyes, along with the woman’s emotions. “There was also a sense of betrayal. Kelly and Lea said their dad had cheated on their mom and left her for another woman. Sandra and her ex-husband were together for thirty years, and according to Kelly, they weren’t on good terms after the divorce.” She shook her head. “No. The ex doesn’t make sense. The betrayal I felt through Sandra had nothing to do with being cheated on, but went deeper than that.”

  “Like a daughter threatening to take her mother’s life.”

  “Or son-in-law,” she countered. “The reading I had when I used Lea’s pen makes me wonder if she and Brandon are as financially stable as they’d like everyone to think.”

  “I think meeting with the private investigator is going to be the only way to get any concrete answers. Closed adoption cases could take a long time to resolve. Ian said phone records prove that George and Sandra had been talking for over a year. If George is any good, he might have a few leads for you.”

  Hope fluttered in her chest. “Does this mean you’re good with me pursuing my ow
n investigation?”

  “I didn’t say that, but I know you’ll keep digging with or without my consent. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to go behind my back or be afraid to discuss this with me.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you.”

  “You didn’t with any of this and I get why. I like science and evidence. What you can do goes beyond my realm of knowledge and that makes me uncomfortable.” He cupped her head. “Especially when I find out my wife was not only living out a woman’s death, but helped her to the other side. What if you didn’t come back to me? What if next time you don’t want to leave?”

  She laid her palm on his hand. “I told you how Maxine taught me to use the scribbling technique to help ground me. What I didn’t tell you is that you ground me, too. When I was in the car and felt the signs of another vision coming on strong, I thought of you. Your face and my love for you helped me to control that vision. And when I got to Maxine’s and did another reading, I once again brought you into my mind to help me get out of it.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you and I’ll always come back to you and Olivia.”

  “But what if you can’t? It’s bad enough dead people use you to tell their stories. The white light? That freaks the hell out of me.”

  She reached between them, then tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Take this off,” she said, pushing the material over his torso.

  “I already feel like an ass for having sex when I thought you’d just had a seizure. Don’t use it to get out of this conversation.”

  “Who said anything about sex? Take off the shirt. I have a point to prove.”

  “If I have to take off my shirt, I think it’s only fair you take off yours,” he said, sitting up and pulling his t-shirt over his head.

  She also sat up and stared at his chest. While she loved everything about John’s body, she especially loved the slabs of muscle and light dusting of hair along his chest. Before she became distracted by his hard abs and the memories of how they’d just made love, she forced her gaze to the scar on his upper bicep.

  “Three months ago, when you came home from Florida with stitches and told me you’d been shot, I was ready to ask you to resign from CORE.” She ran the tip of her finger along the groove of the scar. With her other hand, she caressed the area of his chest where he’d also been shot. “If you hadn’t been wearing a bulletproof vest, you would have been killed. I’ve always known your job could be dangerous. In Wisconsin, I experienced that danger firsthand. Whenever you go on an assignment, I worry about the risks you take and what could happen to you. But I married you knowing that your career with CORE is something you love and that there would always be risks. Just like you went into our marriage knowing I’m psychic. I’m always a bundle of nerves over what might happen to you when you’re working a case. What gets me through is knowing you’ll do whatever it takes to come back to me and Olivia.” She gripped his bicep. “Trust that I would do the same.”

  “Your firsthand experience with what I do happened because you’re psychic.” He crowded her, forcing her back against the pillows. “I don’t want it to happen again. Olivia needs her mother.” He moved on top of her body. “And I need my wife.”

  She skimmed her fingers up the back of his neck, then sifted them through his hair. “I need you, too,” she said, drawing his head closer to hers and brushing her lips along his. “So much.”

  “I love you,” he murmured, then captured her lips with such tenderness, it made her melt inside. She never wanted anything to come between them. Not his job, and certainly not her gift.

  As he gave her a long, lingering kiss, the love and warmth she’d experience when she’d traveled into the light with Tracy returned. The woman had been right. This is where she belonged. Here, in her husband’s embrace.

  After he ended the kiss, he snuggled her against his warmth. Exhaustion and contentment set in and had her smothering a yawn and closing her eyes.

  “Do you want me to go with you tomorrow to meet with the PI?” John asked.

  “I’m good, unless you want to.”

  “Nope. I’m fine hanging with our girl.”

  She smiled. “I might be a while.”

  He shifted, then turned off the lamp on the nightstand. For the first time in years, she was glad the light in the bathroom was still on and she hadn’t been plunged into darkness.

  “Whatever you need,” he said, pulling the comforter over them. “One question, though. And be honest.”

  She inhaled his familiar scent and sighed. Now that the truth was out and John was sort of okay with the return of her psychic stuff, she had nothing to hide. “Ask away. But do it quick before I fall asleep.”

  He ran his hand along her hip. “If your mom had the gift, and her mom had it too, along with…how many generations are we talking about?”

  Eyes heavy, her body sated, her mind done for the night, she snuggled closer to him. “I have no idea.”

  “So you don’t know if Olivia could end up with the gift, too?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at the sliver of light glowing from the bathroom. “Time will tell,” she answered honestly.

  Moments later, John’s breathing regulated and she assumed he’d fallen asleep. Exhausted, she closed her eyes. As she drifted, hung in that place between consciousness and sleep, the black figure reappeared. Its dark mass undulating and rolling over itself. It moved, growing larger, revealing a small head covered in golden curls.

  Olivia.

  Heart pounding, Celeste left the safety and comfort of John’s arms and slid from the bed. She rushed down the hall to her daughter’s partially-opened bedroom door. When she reached the crib, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Olivia lay on the center of her small mattress, her arms raised in a touchdown symbol. Her little sighs and the sight of her were more beautiful than what Celeste had seen in the light with Tracy.

  Satisfied her daughter was fine, Celeste went back to bed. But before sleep finally claimed her, she couldn’t shake the ominous and terrifying image of the black mass surrounding Olivia or what that image could mean. Maybe tomorrow she would find the answers she was looking for…she hoped.

  The black figure had killed twice. The evilness it exuded told her it would kill again.

  But who and why?

  Chapter 9

  GEORGE LANDRY’S OFFICE was located on Davis Street in Evanston, Illinois, a short thirty-minute drive from Celeste’s Lincoln Park condo. She parked her Jeep at a meter in front of the three-story office building. After feeding the meter, she stepped onto the sidewalk and moved toward the dark-blue awning branded with the building’s street address and leading toward the second and third floor offices. Off the street level, a salon, along with a cell phone store, occupied the first floor of the charming, 1930s building.

  Celeste entered and took the stairs to the third floor, where George had said his office was located. When she found a door labeled in brass with the numbers 303, she knocked. A knot of nerves twisted in the pit of her stomach. She hoped to God George would listen to her and accept what she had to tell him. She prayed he’d help her find Tracy. Although she had the woman’s name and, based on her phone number, knew she lived in or around the Milwaukee area, she’d rather have George make the trip to Wisconsin with her. Since George had helped Sandra find Tracy, he would have her address. And if she was wrong and Tracy was alive, Tracy would likely listen to the private investigator over a psychic stranger.

  The doorknob turned and she took a step back as a tall man with silver hair cut in a severe crew cut filled the doorframe. “Celeste Kain?” he asked.

  She held out her hand. “Good morning. Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Landry.”

  His handshake was warm and firm as he widened the door and invited her inside the cozy one-room office. “Please, call me George,” he said, then tapped the chair in front of a dark wooden desk that took up a large part of
the room. “Have a seat and tell me why you’re interested in hiring a PI.”

  She sat and placed her purse in her lap. “I’m not looking to hire you, I’m interested in a case you worked on for Sandra Welsh.”

  “Then I’m afraid you wasted your time coming here.” George sat behind the desk, his dark brows tugging together. “If you want to know about that, you’ll have to ask Sandra. What I do for my clients is confidential.”

  “Sandra’s dead.”

  Sadness softened his face as he glanced to the calendar hanging on the wall. “She thought she had more time.”

  “She did.” Celeste drew in a breath. “Someone murdered her.”

  George quickly leaned forward, his brown eyes wide, his jaw hardening. “How? Have the police found her killer?”

  Oh, boy. He’s so not going to believe me.

  “The police aren’t looking.”

  “I worked Homicide for twelve years.” He reached for the cell phone on the desk. “I’ll make a few calls and find out what—”

  “George, they don’t know she’s been murdered. But I do.”

  He dropped his hand next to the phone and narrowed his eyes. “Did you kill her?”

  She jerked back. “God, no. It looked like she committed suicide by overdosing on morphine.”

  Shaking his head he leaned back in his chair. “Mrs. Kain, I—”

  “Celeste.”

  He sighed. “Celeste, have the police and ME ruled her death as a suicide?”

  “Yes, that’s my understanding.”

  “And you think otherwise because…?”

  “You’ve known Sandra for a year. Do you think she was the type of person who would kill herself?” she asked, instead.

  “No. But she was dying anyway.”

  “True. But I know Sandra didn’t kill herself, and I think the person who murdered her did it because of the daughter she had given up for adoption. The daughter you helped her find.”

  He looked away. “I told you what I do for my clients is confidential.”